Maybe Tomorrow
by Naphyla
Summary: Oneshot. AU HPDM slash. The summer after the war, Draco returned to the Manor. Life was back to the way it used to be. All but one little thing. No one had seen him crumble from the inside.


**AN**: Happy birthday Jenny! This is just my way to convey my thanks for all the help you've provided for me. You've been a really great/supportive friend. Thank you and I wish you a wonderful year! As for the rest of the readers, please sit back and enjoy the story!

**Summary**: AU slight HPDM slash. The summer after the war, Draco returned to the Manor. Life was back to the way it used to be. All but one little thing. No one had seen him crumble from the inside.

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**Maybe Tomorrow**

I sat by my bed, watching the dark blue sky outside my windows with fascination. My feet dangled on the bedside, swinging back and forth like I used to when I was a child. Do you still remember the time we sneaked out during curfew to finish our astronomy homework? How instead of looking for the consolations, we ended up counting the stars? How we laughed and laughed when we lost number of the tiny sparkling dots in the sky? How we cuddled together under the Invisibility Cloak to defend ourselves from the freezing night air as we walked up the castle? Do you remember the kiss you placed on my lips before you let me in my common room?

I wrapped my arms around myself as I shivered from the breeze. It was the last kiss I got from you. A single drop of tear escaped from the corner of my eyes.

Why did you leave me? You said you'll stay by my side forever. Why did you push me away? We were supposed to face Him together. And you broke those promises.

I pushed myself off from the bed, landing gingerly on top of the green carpet. I navigated through my room, touching here and there to make sure that I wasn't bumping into anything. There was no light in the room.

I found myself at the oak-wood table finally, reaching for the second drawer on the right. The wood creaked as I pulled it open. I searched with my hands until I found a pile of parchments. They were notes we used to exchange. Notes of argument, of apologies, of sentiments. Notes of love. I kept them all.

I could feel the tear drying on my face already. I picked up the papers and held it close to my chest. I closed my eyes. I could see you now, with that untamable dark hair and unstylish, round glasses. The wind blowing in your face made your hair even wilder than it was, revealing that famous lightning-like scar.

And your eyes. Your eyes shone with that Gryffindor pride I always saw in them. Those emerald orbs were still beautiful, but somehow they've lost that tenderness. They were less piercing, less intense. Then I realized.

They were dead.

You were dead.

I clenched the parchment tightly, making the papers crackle. Realizing that I was damaging precious memories, I released my clench on the papers quickly, and filed it inside my drawer again. I took large strides back to my bed, feeling sharp edges against my hip and knee on my way there. I climbed onto the large mattress and found comfort in embracing the nearest pillow. There, I curled myself into a ball, trying to make my knees touch my head. I pushed away the previous memories into the back of my head, and thought about better things. Images of our Quidditch matches flooded through my head.

The arrogant blonde -- that's me -- reached his hand out to grasp the Golden Snitch, but you were faster. You always were. He pulled on a sulky face, but deep down he admired your swiftness and speed. He wished that one day he would be able to beat you. I opened my eyes, and smiled.

_Tomorrow, _I thought, _maybe tomorrow._

888888888

I opened my eyes, already fully awake.

_Knock knock knock._

"Draco?" a feminine voice called from behind my bedroom doors.

I tried to ignore the knocking and the calling. _When was the last time I slept properly_ I wondered, knowing that there would be no answer.

I swung my head around to look at the Grandfather clock on the other side of my bed.

Nine-thirty.

_Knock knock knock._

"Draco, dear? Are you awake yet?" The woman sounded nervous, just slightly. I frowned.

"Yes, Mother. I'm awake," I replied, trying to keep my voice thick. The woman sighed in relief, and called back.

"Breakfast will be served in ten minutes."

"I'll be down in a moment."

"All right, dear. " The soft tapping of her high-heels on the marble floor sounded, then died away.

After making sure she left, I jumped out of bed and chose some casual wear from the closet. When I was happy with my outfit, I took the wand by my bedside for some final touch-ups.

"_Occultus."_

I grinned, looking at the mirror. "As good as new," I muttered to myself.

I walked through the long corridors of the Manor, examining old family portraits and famous paintings I have seen for the thousandth time. Sometimes the vastness of the building made me feel as if I was in a never-ending maze, as if it were a huge cage built just to trap me inside. I knew as well as anyone that this mansion was built long ago, but I couldn't stop my paranoia.

I arrived at the dining room three minutes later, where the blonde woman took brisk steps to her seat. The tiny house elf wobbled into the kitchen with something in her hands. I pretended not to notice. "Good morning, Mother," I said.

"Morning, dear." The woman smiled thinly. "I'm sorry but I have to go out and get some things for tonight. It's going to be wonderful."

"I'm sure it will be." I smiled back, though I didn't find it wonderful at all.

She Apparated to Diagon Alley and left me at the very far side of the table to eat my breakfast quietly. When I felt that I have taken in enough food, I wiped my mouth with the napkin; half an omelet, half a toast and half a glass of milk. Sibby was coming to bring the plates back to the kitchen. I picked up the copy of _Daily Prophet_ only to find pages after pages on the upcoming Minister of Magic election and celebrity gossips. It was only weeks ago that Voldemort's demise filled the front pages of every single newspaper existing in the Wizarding World. Only two months have passed, and people were already forgetting about the Boy Who Lived. Putting the past behind them, they say. I tossed the paper aside and walked back to my room.

I stepped inside the dark room. The curtains were down, and little light managed to penetrate through the thick layers of fabric. The dimness and quietness soothed me, but before going back to bed, I needed to do something first. I walked into the bathroom and clicked the door shut.

888888888

"Happy birthday Draco!" The blonde woman embraced me in a tight hug that made me labour for breath. I hugged her back, but only returning a small amount of pressure. If she noticed, she did not mention it. Finally, she released her arms around me but only to take hold of my arms this time, firmly locking me in her hands. "Oh my! I can't believe you're turning seventeen already! It only seemed like yesterday when you were just beginning to take your first steps!"

"Mother," I smiled at her, "it's not my birthday today."

"Don't be silly, it's only one day away. There really isn't much of a big difference."

I didn't object.­

"Oh, you look gorgeous, dear." The woman released her hold on my arms, taking a good look at my outfit. "The most handsome prince I've ever seen."

"You look very lovely today too, Mother." I bent down to kiss the knuckles of her hand, something I knew would make her smile. She did. Being the high-class, chic woman she was and is, her outfit was astounding as usual. Her blonde hair was tied back, with her curls dangling freely by the nape of her neck. She wore a dark green silk dress that brought out her light complexions. She was the most beautiful figure in the room, not to mention the most noticeable.

"Draco."

I started, but I managed to prevent my shock from seeping through. I turned around, lips curving.

"Father."

"Happy birthday, son." There was no hug, nor any type of physical contact; the man was not the sentimental type anyways. His eyes, however, shone with great joy and pride. I rarely saw these expressions on his face.

"Thank you," I replied, receiving his compliment with a slight bow.

The man took a good look at me, nodded, and walked away.

"Enjoy the party, dear." The woman squeezed my shoulders, and followed after him.

I walked around the room, putting on a false smile that I've practiced for hours in front of the mirror while greeting guests as they passed by. Dinner parties never seemed attractive to me, especially ones where I became a main role; parties at Hogwarts were a whole different story. I smiled as I remembered sneaking butterbeer into the dorm and sharing my laughter among the four other companions in that same room. I managed to pull myself out of those memories before I sank in too deeply. Those happy, innocent school days were over.

I picked up a glass of Firewhisky and sipped it, feeling the alcohol burning a path down my throat. Before I tilted the glass again, I noticed a figure approaching.

"Pansy." I smiled courteously, putting down my drink on the table. "Tell me, what do you think of the party?"

"There's no point in asking me since you hate these occasions," she replied.

"I suppose I should appreciate it. Just once." I leaned my weight on the wall. "It's my seventeenth birthday after all."

"Not today," she said, "tomorrow."

"You're right." I shifted my eyes from hers and stared at the tip of my shoes. "Tomorrow," I whispered.

There was silence.

"How does it feel?" Pansy asked, finally, in a barely audible voice.

I turned toward her subtly. "How does what feel?"

"Voldemort's defeat, and," she paused, and spoke again, "Potter's death."

My heart stun at the sound of his name, a painful yet numbing feeling that spread to the rest of my body like a cancer. Memories swarmed my mind. His lop-sided grin, his glasses; his anger; his whispers; his scent. Everything. I felt—actually felt—myself wavering, but I stood my ground and wiped away whatever thoughts were left in my head. "It feels great," I lied. "Voldemort's death freed my family from his grasp. Who knows when he might decide to take out his anger on us? And as for Potter…" I turned around to grip the half-empty glass of Firewhisky. Instead of taking drinking it, my fingers trailed the rim of the glass over and over again. "I find it a complete relief that he's out of my life. No more Boy Wonder to steal the spotlight, and stupid insults coming from that fowl mouth of his."

Pansy nodded, and moved on to talk about Crabbe and Goyle's families, and her relationship with Blaise. I nodded here and there, but I wasn't listening. My mind still lingered on my words, how I regretted each and every one of them. After what seemed like forever, Pansy finally decided to join another group's conversation. I watched her walk away, and quickly snaked through the crowd to find haven—my room.

Once inside, I rushed to the bathroom sink and did what I always do after every meal: I turned on the taps and stuck my fingers inside my throat. I slid them above my tongue until I could go no further, and pressed hard on the flesh. Stomach fluid surged from within, and in seconds white chyme began gushing out of my mouth. I continued to retch, until I began throwing up bile. I sank to the floor bit by bit, feeling the coolness of the tiles against my knees. The bitter taste remained on my tongue.

I listened to the running water from the tap. Images of my parents flashed before my eyes. Their fair complexion and white-blonde hair; their elegant robes and dresses; their arrogance and pride. How I loathed them for giving me everything I don't need, for expecting me to be their marionette, and for bringing me into this unhappy family, into this world.

I stood up and wiped the vomit with my sleeve, then turned the water off. I removed the dress robe and loosened up the collars of my shirt. With heavy steps, I reached the desk and fumbled through the drawers to find what I most needed. I brought out the stacks of untidy, badly-trimmed paper and began reading them one by one.

_You insulted Hermione today. Apologize to her._

_Meet me at the Room of Requirements. I have something to give you._

_Sometimes I really feel like smacking your head against the wall. Change that stupid attitude of yours for once!_

_I'm sort of stuck on Potions. If you get me through this assignment I promise I'll do whatever you demand. Please and thank you._

_I'm sorry._

My eyes lingered on the words, refusing to look at anywhere but black letters. "'I'm sorry'," I mouthed the words, and laughed. "'I'm sorry'." The light chuckles became wilder. I could no longer remember why I began laughing in the first place. "Sorry for what? Sorry that you're dead? Sorry that you couldn't even save your own arse? Don't you know that sorry isn't enough?" I hurled the paper into the air and let them fall to the carpet slowly. I knelt on the floor while tears raced down the side of my cheeks. "Saying sorry won't bring you back," I whispered.

I left all sense of time behind as I sat by the desk to pick up the pieces of paper lying on the floor. I piled the notes on the table and climbed up to the chair. I laid my head down on the desk along with the notes, no longer caring if I might wake up with a headache in the middle of the night.

"Maybe tomorrow." I closed my eyes, waiting for sleep to claim me.

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It was just past midnight when Narcissa Malfoy walked up to the last door in the corridor with a frown on her face. Draco had disappeared after their last conversation, and she could not locate him anywhere in the ballroom. He didn't even show up to cut the cake. The guests left fifteen minutes ago, so she decided to have a little conversation with her son. "Draco?" The blonde woman held up her hand to knock, but discovered a thin crack between the door frame and the door. Her frown deepened. Something was wrong. "Draco, I'm coming in."

The door creaked slightly when she pushed it open. The bathroom door was open. Narcissa peered inside. The neat tiles were full of puddles, with Draco's jacket on top of one of them. She closed the door and walked a few steps more.

Draco sat on the chair with his head down on the desk. His eyes were closed with an odd sense of peacefulness. The worry and anger melted away, replaced by tenderness. She knew that Draco had been restless ever since he came back from Hogwarts. The war had probably been scary for him to face at such a young age.

She heard a soft crunch as she stepped closer to her son to provide him with a Warming Charm. She looked down and found a yellowed piece of paper. This was quite unusual, the puddles in the bathroom and the pieces of paper lying on the floor. Draco was never this messy. She picked it up and found black inked letters embroidered on the coarse, poor-graded parchment.

_I love you._

_Harry._

Narcissa sucked in her breath. Questions filled her mind. _This couldn't' possibly be true. My child could never be…_

She strode closer to her son and stared down at the table in disbelief. She snatched another note up and scanned it, then another one. She could not simply believe her own eyes. Yes, something must be wrong with her eyes. Maybe all that preparation for the party had let to these crazy illusions. She snapped her head to look at her son, praying, pleading silently for her imaginations not to come true.

The moment her eyes fell on the boy, she gasped in horror. His face was drained of all colours, so pale that it was almost ghostly. "Draco?" Narcissa called, taking hold of his shoulders and nudged him gently. There was no response. "Draco!" She began shaking him now. Her voice sounded so strange in her own ears, but she could care less right now. She reached to caress his face, but recoiled immediately at the touch. His skin was as cold as ice. His cheeks were hollow, much too hollow compared to what she saw this morning. With shaky hands, Narcissa moved her fingers under the boy's nostrils, and froze.

There was no breath.

"Lucius!" She ran out of the room. "Lucius!" Her voice echoed in the dark corridors, until it faded away completely.

A sudden gust of wind came rushing through the window, lifting the parchments into the air. At the very bottom of the pile was a white piece of paper with neatly trimmed edges, one from years ago.

_You don't need to get me anything. My birthday wish is to stay with you forever._

_Draco._

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**AN**:_ Occultus_ comes from the Latin word "occulto", meaning to conceal or to cover.

The title of the story "Maybe Tomorrow" was an inspiration from Kelly Sweet's song "Dream On". It came from the line "Maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away."


End file.
